


Greetings, Take Me to Your Leader

by Flavortext



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, angels are aliens ?, roadtrip au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8345239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flavortext/pseuds/Flavortext
Summary: from a prompt on tumblr, cas is an alien come to colonize earth, he and dean go on a road trip





	

Dean Winchester drove his brother to the airport. It was Sam’s second year of college now, and Dean was going to have to say goodbye to his brother for another whole one hundred and eighty days, give or take, until summer hit again. He had plans, of course, a road trip, visit a few old friends, work, but he was used to doing all these things with Sam at his side. His car would be lonely without a figure in the passenger seat. 

Dean sat in the Impala as Sam waved before heading through the circling doors of the airport. Dean waited a few more seconds, took a deep breath, hit the radio, and peeled out of the lot, merging onto the nearby highway just a bit too fast. 

Dean drove when he was lonely, or mad, or anything, really. He could think properly when he was behind the wheel of his car, could feel the drumming of her engine under his feet, had something blasting over the radio. 

Dean was on the dusty half-paved road to a dinky diner outside of the next town over when it happened. First, his radio fizzled out, which was find, sometimes the signal would just have a dead spot. Then it went from a slightly overcast day to searing white, like the clouds had parted and the sun was glaring straight in his eyes. He slammed on the break but didn’t hear the familiar squeal of tires, instead he felt that the car was perfectly still, stopped in its tracks. He blinked, white light still blotting out the world around the interior of his car. Dean closed his eyes and rubbed them, hoping to clear up whatever was happening. When he looked up again, it was into a pair of bright blue eyes. And a lot of stubble.

A man a few years older than Dean, in a trench coat and tie, was sitting in his passenger seat, leaning over the central divide and seemingly inspecting him. Dean jolted back, drawing up his legs between himself and the intruder, arm reaching for a pocket knife hidden in the door tray. 

“Who the hell are you.” Dean said slowly, fingers closing around the cool metal, ready to flick it open and swing out. The man tilted his head, blinked, and then spoke. 

“Take me to your leader, Dean Winchester.” 

He had a gruff voice, as if he hadn’t used it in a long time, or was hungover. Dean froze, hand at his hip, blade still concealed. The other man had sat back a little, and was looking around the car. 

“What?” Dean managed, sure he hadn’t heard right. He noticed absentmindedly that his car doors were still locked, as they had been when he was driving. No way the man could have gotten in. 

“Dean, you heard me.” The man looked exasperated. He met Dean’s eyes again, and his were an unearthly blue. 

“I...What the hell, get out of my car, man.” Dean relaxed a little on the knife, trying to tell himself this was just some crazy guy. Who knew his name. And had stopped his car dead in its tracks (as he could see outside now, and they were still on the dusty rode, the diner visible in the distance). 

“No.” Was all the man said. He scooted a little on the seat, fixing his coat underneath himself. 

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Dean was angry now, and a little unsettled. His grip on his knife tightened. 

“These days, your word for me...us... I believe it is ‘angel’.” The man said, quite calm. He was fiddling with his tie in Dean’s side mirror. 

“Angel?” Dean nearly choked, though in anxiety or laughter he wasn’t sure. 

“Of the Lord, yes.” The man sighed and once again looked over to Dean. “They told me you were rather stubborn.” The man suddenly was leaning towards Dean, and in one fluid motion had two fingers just between his eyes. Dean’s brain flashed with images. Pictures from the bible, a shadowy figure with great wings that touched the stars, a golden flash of light, and feelings too. Need, love, peace, and then a name. Castiel. 

Somehow Dean’s instinct continued to control his body while his brain was otherwise occupied. He flicked out the pocket knives blade, and instead of going for the man's hand or arm as others may have, he stabbed straight for the chest. The knife wasn’t long enough to do too much damage, but it would sure as hell scare off an attacker.

Except Castiel just withdrew his hand from Dean’s forehead, and looked at the blood leaking out around Dean’s pocket knife. He reached up and pulled it out easily, then offered it back to Dean, open palmed. 

Dean allotted himself a few minutes of stare-and-internally-freak-the-fuck-out time. Castiel picked almost sadly at the bloody stain on his white shirt. 

“Okay...Castiel.” Dean tested the name out on his tongue. He was piecing together the images that had flashed through his head. He got the basic jist of what Castiel had tried to tell him. Angels had once walked on earth with humans, causing all the references to them in the bible. But for some reason they were back now...they needed help, it seemed to Dean. “What the hell do you want with me?” He took his knife and wiped it on his undershirt, leaving it on his thigh though. Castiel sighed. 

“I wish to see your leader.” Castiel said simply. Dean pinched his nose. 

“You mean like, the president?” He asked. “Or, like, Pope?” 

Castiel seemed to ponder for a moment, as if he was trying to figure that out himself. 

“There is a man...He is The Prophet. He is who we need to go to first.” Castiel said suddenly. Dean sighed despite himself. 

“What’s this prophet's name, where is he?” He asked. He was formulating a plan on how to ditch Cas in his head. Drive up to the bar, ask him to go in and pick up something to go, and drive off. 

“Chuck Shurley.” Castiel replied. He closed his eyes for a moment, then yanked open Dean’s glove compartment and produced a map from the mess inside. He sprayed it flat in his lap, and pointed at a spot on it. “He is here.” Castiel held up the map to Dean. 

“Okay...” Dean felt something strange tug in his gut, looking at the town name. 

“You must take me there.” Castiel said, putting the map back down in his lap. “You cannot...’ditch’ me.” Castiel looked over at Dean, looking almost like he was pouting. Dean found that his half formed plan evaporated. Castiel looked, well, not kind, but in need of help. Despite his blunt speech, Dean felt he meant well, and he was just as confused as Dean was in some ways. He was staring at the map with the curiosity of a child, tracing roads with his fingers. Dean found himself starting the Impala, and turning around. He didn’t say anything until they were on a highway, and Dean found he could picture the next exit he needed to take, despite never having driven this way. 

“Okay, Cas, house rules.” He snapped. “If I’m going to drop my life and tote you halfway across the country, you’re gonna stay out of my head. No more angel telepathy.” Dean spared a glance over at Castiel, who was watching him with wide blue eyes. 

“It is not fully intentional, Dean.” Castiel said. “But I will refrain from using our link, if it makes you uncomfortable.” Castiel returned to looking squarely ahead. 

“Link?” Dean asked, unsure he wanted any more explanation then the flashes of images and the strange pulling in his gut, which he was now sure was leading him towards this prophet, Chuck. 

“Several of us, angels, I mean, have been Sent Down.” Castiel explained. “In different places, to ensure a smooth return to earth. We each have a connection with a certain individual, to ensure us safe travel, and as a guide to the changes in society since we have last walked with you.” Castiel seemed to smile, a slight turn of his lips, as he folded the map slowly. 

“Okay...” Dean said slowly. A question itched at him. “Why me?”

Castiel blinked, snapping to look at Dean, then forcibly relaxed. He paused, glanced around himself, then said; “You have a very nice car.” 

Dean waged a small battle with himself, pride in his car versus anger that the man-angel-, had changed the subject. Pride won out. 

“67 Impala. She was my dad's.” He smiles, patting the dashboard. Castiel stared at him blankly. Dean let out a pursed breath- of course Castiel wouldn’t care. They drove in silence until Dean’s butt was sore and his stomach protesting audibly. The sun was just starting to touch the hills that lined the wide highway they were driving along. Dean turned at the next exit without protest from Castiel. He pulled up at a cheap overnight hotel attached to a diner and stopped the car. Castiel was jolted out of his trance at the ending of the engines purr. 

“Do you require a rest?” He asked, looking at Dean with his wide blue eyes. Dean surveyed Castiel properly for the first time. He had tousled black hair, deep set crinkled eyes, thin lips, and what seemed like a few days stubble on his cheeks. His coat was falling off on one shoulder and his tie was backwards. At some point the bloodstain in his chest had disappeared.

“Yeah, hate to break it to you but I have to eat and sleep like the rest of us.” Dean snapped, it suddenly occurring to him that Castiel might need neither for the first time. The angel said nothing, however, but opened the car and stood up. Dean did the same, grabbing his wallet and pocketing his knife out of habit. Castiel noticed this but again was silent. Dean flicked open the black leather in his hand and counted his cash with crinkled brows. He had been planning to spend a few nights gambling and rigging some games before heading out. He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up, once again finding Castiel inches from his face. The angel wordlessly reached out to Dean’s wallet, holding a credit card. On it was printed the name CASTIEL NOVAK. Dean looked from Cas to the card. Usually he didn’t accept money from anyone. He had a feeling whatever was on this card was completely fake. He usually stayed away from any type of money laundering (usually). He took the card.

“I need a drink.” Dean said, turning his back on Castiel and pocketing his wallet. He walked a block to a bar, shouldered open the door, and took a seat on a stool, waving a hand at the bartender to get his attention. He ordered a shot of whiskey before realising Castiel was standing directly behind him.

“Hello, Dean.” The angel said. Dean thought the word ‘along’ had been pretty implied in what he had said, but apparently not. With a heavy breath, Dean gestured to the stool next to him. Castiel hesitated, then sat. Dean drank his whiskey in one gulp, not taking his eyes off his companion, who was fascinated with a  stray nut shell on the bar. Dean sighed, signalling for another drink, and put his hands flat in his lap. 

“Okay, Castiel.” He said, softer than he would normally speak. “Anything else I should know about this whole ‘chosen to lead an angel to some guy named Chuck’ business?” Dean liked to know the whole plan, he’d gotten the bad end of enough deals to know to be careful. Castiel cracked the shell between his fingers. 

“This is your duty. Things will reveal themselves to you as you need them.” He said simply, looking at the sharp halves of the shell in front of him instead of Dean. Dean took a slow drink. 

“Does my ‘duty’ include time for a burger and a night's rest?” Dean asked. 

“There is not necessarily a timeline, besides that this is an urgent meeting for my people.” Castiel responded, but said nothing more while Dean payed for his drinks (with his own money, for now) and left the bar. Dean didn’t have to check that Castiel was following. In addition to the strong pull in his gut, he was beginning to notice another pull, a vague sense of warmth in whatever direction Castiel was. 

They went to the diner, Dean ordering a burger to go, then to the hotel. Dean used Castiel’s card here, the angel pressed up against his shoulder as he curiously watched the woman at the desk scan it and type on her computer. She gave them a warm smile and a little card with a room key attached. Dean pocketed it and headed out. Castiel opened his mouth as if to say something, then stopped, but looked at Dean curiously as they entered the room. It was a simple hotel room, two beds on either side of a small cabinet, a decorative partition, and a small table and bathroom door. 

“I do not require a bed, in the future.” Castiel said at last, standing as Dean sat on one of the beds. Dean looked at Cas for a moment. 

“You don’t sleep?” He asked first. 

“No, I do not require it. In this physical vessel, I am capable, but...” Castiel lifted his arms in a little shrug. Dean felt his heart do a little jump, he almost found Castiel endearing, with his scruffy look and scratchy voice and manners. He sighed and lay back. He had a duffel with a change of clothes in his trunk, for emergencies, but he was going to have to make a stop for other supplies, and road snacks. 

Dean didn’t remember falling asleep, just waking up with the strong feeling of eyes on him. He didn’t have any of his usual grogginess, he just sat up and turned to Castiel, who was sitting in a chair, hands crossed in his lap, watching Dean. It was dark, just a faint moonlight through the curtains and the hint of the diners bright sign illuminating the room in a pale light. 

“Dude.” Dean said, straighten the blankets that were tangled around his feet. Castiel blinked. “Stop with the starting.” Dean said. Castiel blinked again and softened his gaze, scanning Dean and then the room. Dean heavily sighed, checking the clock. It was close to 3 am. He fixed a crick in his neck before laying back down. He found he fell back asleep easily, despite the faint feeling of being watched. 

Dean woke up the second time to the smell of maple syrup. He sat up to find Castiel at the table, a bag and take out container on the table. Inside was a large waffle, drizzled in syrup. Dean gawked, jumping out of bed. 

“I thought you would appreciate breakfast, I hope this is sufficient.” Castiel said, gesturing to the food as Dean sat astride a chair and managed to shut his mouth before he drooled. 

“Thanks, man.” Dean said, chuckling slightly. Castiel sat, brow furrowed as he watched Dean cut off a chunk of waffle and eat it. 

“We should keep moving, Dean.” Castiel said. “The issue has become more urgent.”

Dean chewed a mouthful before responding. “Fastest I can get you there is a week, unless you can drive.” Dean says. Castiel looks into his lap and shakes his head. Dean nods. 

“A week will be acceptable.” Castiel says, Dean has a feeling that this is Cas’s way of thanking him. 

When they’ve been on the road for a while, after getting Gas and a bag full of snacks, Castiel begins to speak. 

“What is earth like, Dean?” He asks, eyes trained on the flat grassland and occasional cow they pass. 

“It sucks, Cas. I don’t know how to break it to you, but people are kind of shit.” Dean too keeps his eyes trained on the road for the most part, but steals glances at Cas, noticing things like the curve of his jaw and constant loosening of his tie. Despite himself, Dean saw Cas as very human. There were some moments when he saw he wasn’t blinking, or breathing, some things Castiel looked at with inhuman curiosity, Dean realized with shock that Castiel was his  _ type _ . He was pretty sure this was intentional. Send the pretty-nerd boy angel down to wrap Dean Winchester around his finger. And wrapped he was.

Castiel was always asking questions, devouring Dean’s limited knowledge of history, having him explain every reference and joke (which Dean thought tedious until he was rewarded with a genuine smile from the angel, and a silent shake of laughter, then he wanted to invoke the action again and again, no matter what it took), and constantly flicking through the radio stations as they drove. 

On the third day, after a stiff motel room and a cheap gas station lunch, Dean thought of a question for Cas. 

“What will you do once we find Chuck?” He asked. They were driving up a winding road along a mountain, the radio off because it picked up nothing but static. Castiel blinked, sitting up in his seat and adjusting his seat belt.

“I will tell him the angels are returning, and he will begin to prepare earth for us, find places we are needed, send us information we need, such as what you told me about the bees, Dean, that was very important.” Castiel pauses to smile white Dean tries to think of what he had said, something about how they made honey. “Then, I don’t know. I am not commanded to return, I suppose I will find somewhere to settle and await orders.” Cas leaned his head back against the window. Dean nodded, and they spend the rest of the drive in near silence. 

 

“What is sleep like, Dean?” Castiel asks from a chair in their hotel room. Dean had gotten a single room this time, ignoring the look the man at the desk had given him and Castiel. 

“I don’t know, you close your eyes, and dream, and when you wake up you’ve slept.” Dean says, flicking through channels on mute, eyes fixed at the TV behind Castiel's head. Castiel was watching the TV too, though his eyes seemed glazed over. 

“I would like to dream.” He said softly, suddenly breaking his blank stare to fixate on Dean. Dean leaned back on his pillows. 

“Bad time for me to only get one bed then, I guess.” Dean sighed, next time he’d get a twin room. He was realising just how calm he felt with Cas, suddenly fearing that this would be over quite soon. 

“The bed is quite large, Dean.” Castiel said out of the blue. Dean blinked. “It could sufficiently hold both of us.” Castiel rises as if to walk over and show Dean. 

“Uh, no, Cas.” Dean blurts, holding up a hand. His thoughts are spinning, one part of him very much wants to invite handsome, sweet, gentle Cas into his bed, the same part that wants to feel his stubble against his lips and draw out sounds even better than the soft laughter from Cas. The other part of him remind him this isn't just some one night stand, a guy from a bar. Cas is some inhuman creature, and they have four more days together on the road. His brain settles on a compromise. “You sleep in the bed, I’ll take the chair.” Dean points to a cushioned chair in the corner. Cas scrunches up his brows. 

“You will not sleep well in the chair.” Cas states, now standing next to Dean on the bed, removing his trenchcoat. Dean swallows deeply and huffs. With difficulty he scoots over to the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the TV. He watches Castiel remove his shoes and socks, sitting on the edge of the bed, as he has watched Dean do, and then swing his legs onto the bed. Castiel lays back flat, head on one pillow, arms straight at his side. He looks to Dean like a very uncomfortable businessman, just horizontal. 

Before he can think about what his hand’s are doing, Dean reaches for Cas’s tie. Cas doesn’t flinch as Dean loosen it and then slips it up off the angels head. Cas watches Dean clutch the tie absently. 

“There.” Dean says, feeling like he has to do something to break the silence, and then turns and places the tie on his bedside table. Dean turns off the TV, then the lights. He sits on his side of the bed stiffly, staring at Castiel in the dark. The angel has his eyes closed, hands flat against the sheets, and a thin blanket pulled up to his neck. Dean gets under both blankets, suddenly cond despite the warmth of his bond with Castiel, and turns his back to the angel. He hopes that his discomfort and the layered blankets will help fix his usual habit of rolling and attaching to anything within arms length as he sleeps. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'll write another chapter for this I think im just burnt out for tonight!


End file.
